


gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mind

by piggy09



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Sparring, i can't believe there isn't a zag/meg/than tag...i need more food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27335170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: "Hurry up," Meg says. "We're sparring."
Relationships: Megaera/Thanatos/Zagreus, Megaera/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game), Zagreus/Megaera/Thanatos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 280





	gonna teach you tricks that'll blow your mind

**Author's Note:**

> [warning for canon-typical violence]

Zagreus’ head has just surfaced above the Pool of Styx when a fluffy white towel comes flying out of absolutely nowhere to slap him across the face.

“ _Ow_ ,” he says.

“Can’t hurt nearly as much as dying.” The voice is familiar, a soft rough rasp, and – sure enough – when Zagreus frees himself from the towel he sees Meg staring down at him. His thoughts turn into an embarrassing array of _Meg!_ and _Meg!_ and, eloquently, _Meg!_ He does his best to paw all the blood from his face with the towel while hunting for more syllables. At least she got him a towel, that was kind.

“I think we both have too much experience with dying to ever mistake it for anything else,” he says. “Although I would love it if you started hitting me with towels instead. That would be deeply appreciated.”

“I’m not going to start going easy on you,” she says. She looks down at him, blinks languidly. “Speaking of. Hurry up and dry off. Or don’t. We’re sparring.”

“Are we?” Zagreus says, delighted despite himself. He begins rapidly wiping off the blood, trying to keep his proverbial tail from wagging. “I thought you were – I mean, I thought you didn’t—”

“I was convinced.” Meg tosses her hair in a way that means to say _I am untouchable and cold_ but actually says _I’m a little on edge and if you tell anyone that I will hurt you_. “Come on, we’re not doing it here. Though that would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it. Save you a trip back to the Pool.”

“Meg, I l—I’m very fond of you, but it insults me that you think I would lose.”

A full smile blooms across her face, twisting Zagreus’ stomach into agreeable knots. “Ha.” She turns on her heel and walks away through the echoing halls of the House of Hades. Zagreus has to jog to keep up.

“Where exactly are we going?”

“You really need to learn to be patient.”

“I admit it’s never been one of my strong suits.”

“I know. Everyone knows. This door, Zagreus.”

Meg expertly jostles open a ruby doorknob and leads Zagreus into the yawning, cavernous space of the disused ballroom. The obsidian floors glitter with fractal patterns of gold. Skulls are frozen in positions of agony on top of the pillars. It has always been incredibly shitty in here, which is why no one ever wants to throw parties.

A new voice echoes through the empty dark: “You’re late.”

And there, tucked neatly into the shadow behind a pillar: Thanatos, hovering off the ground, watching them both with his coin-colored eyes. When he sees Zagreus looking at him he quickly looks away; his hand twitches slightly around his scythe. _I missed you too_ , Zagreus thinks, but does not say it out loud so as not to embarrass him.

“You know that’s not _my_ fault,” Meg says, closing the door behind them and turning a key in a lock with a definitive _click_.

“Oh,” Zagreus says, “oh, so when you said we were sparring—”

“I told you he’d be excited,” Thanatos says to Meg.

“—you meant for an audience, or – oh – was _sparring_ a metaphor here, because my chamber is really very close, and it’s much more—”

“Of course he’s excited,” she says. “Nothing makes him happier than getting all the blood knocked out of him.”

“—and how did you even _convince_ Than to – hold on, I win the majority of our fights.”

“Hm,” Meg says. Her mouth flattens out, slices a cold line across her face.

“Not that I meant that as an insult or anything,” Zagreus says hurriedly. “It’s always very close. In fact, I—”

Meg unspools her whip, cracks it once. The sound is like a slap.

“Well,” Zagreus says. “I did try.”

Meg’s whip shatters the air on its way towards Zagreus’ face, and Zagreus has to dive and roll and scramble across the floor of the ballroom to avoid it. He should’ve known that this wasn’t an official fight, that Meg wouldn’t (he skids around a barrage of tiny fireballs) allow herself the ceremony of a definitive start (he summons his sword) especially when he’d injured her pride, which he really hadn’t meant to do (one hit, two hits, dash away _now_ ). He should have stopped to think before saying anything, but as Meg said: everyone in the Underworld knows that patience is not his strong suit.

It’s just – the idea of fighting for the fun of it. Without the pretense of job security and whatnot. With Thanatos here, not because Zagreus had summoned him, but simply because he wanted to be here. He wanted to be here and see it.

And – there – and under the fire—

—and around the burning curves of Meg’s whip, keep an eye on the shift of her hips, not because she’s so – so – but just because it’s a tell, watch for it, that particular way that Meg leaves herself open, that slight pause that he – well, loves, deeply, loves Meg deeply, loves fighting with her, her snarling rage and the cold precise angles of her eyes and the flare of her wing and the—

—ah, shit, _ow_ —

—red blood on the floor of the ballroom, and a splatter of black ichor, and Meg running a tongue thoughtfully over one sharp incisor as she pulls her whip back in and sends it screaming out again. She is so beautiful that it hurts, in an entirely separate way from the way she has already hurt him.

“Playing for keeps?” Zagreus says breathlessly.

“Always,” Meg says; her voice curls softly around the word, husky and sweet, underlined by a roaring gout of flame that comes out of absolutely nowhere to try and char Zagreus’ legs off. He dodges behind a pillar. In the darkness: Thanatos, looking coolly untouched by the absolutely brutal violence happening forty feet away from him.

“Hi,” Zagreus says. “Enjoying the show? Feeling any need to step in?”

“You seem to be holding your own out there.” A lilac fireball shoots towards Thanatos’ face and freezes, politely, once it gets close enough. It wobbles an inch or two in front of him; the searing light catches off of Thanatos’ eyes, the metal collar of his robes.

Gods, Zagreus needs to stop being distracted by how beautiful they both are while he’s trying not to die.

“Thanks,” he says, “I really do try,” and then he has to run to hide behind another pillar while Meg flings herself like a falling star around the ballroom. He has never related more to the screaming golden skulls.

He tries, he does try, and his reward is the exultant scream his body makes when it’s fighting to stay in motion. Jab, parry, roll, weave – motions beaten into him by a thousand losses to Achilles in the courtyard, a million losses to Meg in the halls of Tartarus. Now here: in a ballroom, dancing in the only way either of them really understand—

An opening.

He gets into Meg’s space again and realizes that she’s smiling – a full, open smile, all bloody white teeth. She looks as delighted as he feels. He laughs helplessly as his sword glances off of her armor, and the full bright force of Meg’s smile lands on him.

“Nice try,” she says, voice breathy. Her pupils are blown out wide. Zagreus’ hands clench on the hilt of his sword, trying to deny the urge to touch her – place a palm on her hip, run fingers through her hair – and Meg has slowed, just slightly, to raise an eyebrow at him: _here? I mean, we_ could—

Out of nowhere, a bell chimes. Slow and ponderous and ancient – one, twice, thrice. He can hear it in his bones. Like a ship sinking into black water.

“Ah,” Zagreus says, and instinctually he ducks. Thanatos’ scythe whistles over Zagreus’ head; it comes so close that a few leaves detach from his crown, go scattering to the winds. Meg’s eyes flare open with either terror or delight.

“Than?” Zagreus says, dancing backwards and trying desperately to recuperate. “Thanatos? Glad you decided to participate and all that, but would you mind telling me which side you’re on?”

“Mine,” says Thanatos; a hooked smile pulls up the corner of his mouth. He effortlessly twirls his worldkilling scythe around in one hand.

Zagreus looks at Meg.

Meg looks at Zagreus.

“Yeah,” he says, “yeah, yeah, alright,” and they charge.

He hasn’t ever fought _against_ Thanatos, only _alongside_ Thanatos, which means he has the vague idea that fighting him is suicidal but does not know enough about it, concretely, to discourage himself from trying. He knows that Thanatos fights with time, inevitability, entropy. This all seems rather unfair when Zagreus is fighting with a sword, but he’s grateful to Thanatos for saving his life so many times and therefore he’s never brought it up.

He realizes now that he should have brought it up.

The slow swings of Thanatos’ scythe seem like they should be easy to miss, but the scythe is so large and Thanatos is so certain of himself that Zagreus only barely manages to dodge. Dodge. Dodge. Dodge. The scythe swings back and forth with the indifference of a pendulum. Thanatos doesn’t even seem tired, the absolute bastard.

“Perpetual motion,” Zagreus gasps to Meg, and she shoots him an irritated glance that might mean _I know, thank you very much_ or might mean _what you just said means nothing_. He doesn’t know, Meg is gone, there is no space for her in his mind; he is busy twisting his spine in impossible directions to avoid the curve of Thanatos’ scythe. Every bit of blood in him fights against the slow drag of Than’s aura – that deep and inevitable voice that says _just lie down, it’ll hurt less_. His movements slow down as he gets closer to Thanatos; the weight of all that death drags him into slow motion. Tragically literal slow motion. His hand is moving at about an inch an hour.

“What’s wrong, Zag?” says Thanatos. “Having trouble?” He watches with mild interest as Zagreus’ sword tick-tocks its slow way towards his neck.

“ _No_ ,” Zagreus says, desperately shoving his full weight forward. He can see the flickering pink and purple reflections of Meg’s magic, Than’s magic, both of them slowed-down and orbiting in a halo around Thanatos. Zagreus is so close to him that he can see the quivering of his eyelashes. It is completely unfair for Thanatos to look so beautiful and distracting while Zagreus is trying to hit him with a weapon.

 _Fuck it_ , he thinks, and forces his slow lunge to pivot; he waits out the endless seconds of orbit and, inelegantly, manages to crumple his mouth against Thanatos’.

Thanatos makes a muffled squeak in the back of his throat that is endearingly reminiscent of Mort. There is a brief moment of absolute silence.

Then Zagreus dodges out of the way as all of the pent-up and slowed-down forces on the field slam into Thanatos at once.

“That was a dirty play,” Thanatos says – in his version of a scream, which means his voice is at about normal volume and sounds slightly upset. There’s a series of livid, ugly bruises starting to form on his skin.

“Sorry, mate!”

“Don’t apologize,” Meg says, looking delighted; her whip flies out again and hooks around Thanatos’ ankle, sending him flipping upwards at a completely undignified angle. “This is what you wanted,” she says, “right, Thanatos? A little bit of competition for once.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

“You didn’t have to say it. Go get him, Zag.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Zagreus says, dashing in with a quick cruel slice to the chest. Instead of bare skin, his sword meets the handle of Than’s scythe – barely, and with a horrifying screech, but they clash together as Thanatos manages to block his strike. Thanatos is gritting his teeth, which on anyone else would be a full-fledged panic attack. There’s a fleck of Zagreus’ blood on his lower lip.

“Hi,” Zagreus says. He shoves forward a little bit, forcing pressure against the handle of the scythe. His sword slips towards the place where the hilt and blade meet; Thanatos seems cognizant of this too, how close he is to trapping Zagreus’ sword.

“Hi,” says Thanatos. “You’re bleeding.”

“I love the way you make everything sound like an insult, Than.”

“It wasn’t intended to be one,” Thanatos says. “Just an observation.” He pushes closer, inch by excruciating inch, until their chests are almost touching. Only the blades between them, and he kisses Zagreus back. Zagreus’ heart goes battering wildly against the inside of his chest before falling into the thump-thump, thump-thump of hoofbeats.

“Ah,” he says as the kiss breaks. “A Centaur Heart.”

“Like I said,” Thanatos says, “you’re bleeding,” and he _shoves_ Zagreus away with a push of muscle and time and fate.

“Thanks, mate,” Zagreus yells over his shoulder; he goes cannonballing across the room, springboards off a pillar, and has just made it two stumbling steps forward when he’s slammed back into the wall. Hands close over his wrists.

“Hey there,” Meg says, and she kisses him. It’s good. Some tongue, mostly teeth, the constant raised-hackles awareness of Thanatos across the room; the warm weight of Meg’s body pressed against Zagreus’ body, the quick hungry panting of their breathing. When Meg breaks the kiss, her pink lipstick is smeared with pomegranate-red. Gods. Her mouth.

“What was that for?” Zagreus manages.

“I get jealous,” she says. She sounds incredibly pleased. “You should probably stay here.” And she’s gone, wing open, entire body honed like a knife and screaming straight towards Thanatos.

Obligingly, he stays there. There’s an endless split-open second where they leave him alone, and he can catch his breath and watch: the quick flicker of Meg teasing in and out of Thanatos’ aura, the slithering of whip against scythe. He tries to strangle his inner adolescent, who keeps screaming things like _both of them?_ and _wow?_ and _really, seriously, BOTH OF THEM?!_

They both have his blood on their mouths.

When sitting out of the fight becomes unbearable, he leaps back into it: straight at Thanatos’ back, a full and brutal stab that nearly works. The blade clangs off of armor, and Zagreus’ brain shivers and snaps back into the cold clarity of a fight.

He goes for Thanatos while Meg is distracting him, and then he and Meg are fighting Than, and then Than winks at him and twirls his scythe and suddenly they’re both fighting Meg instead. Then they’re all clawing at each other. Then he and Meg are up against Than again, and then Meg and Than are both throwing a whole bunch of unfairly powerful magic at Zagreus (who still _only has a sword_ ), and then he loses track completely of everything that is not the position of weapons and bodies in space.

It’s beautiful. Exhilirating. Absolutely bone-deep exhausting. He surrenders first – not because he’s the most injured, but because everyone looks tired and he know neither of the others will be the one to blink first. So when a poorly-timed somersault leaves him on the ground, just…flops down and stays there.

The adrenaline leaks from him in stages, and so does his lifeblood. Gods, the floor is nice. No pillows, though – just cold obsidian. He can hear the fight slowly dragging itself along behind him. The ceiling of the ballroom is covered with a fresco of penitent lost souls begging for Hades’ mercy, which is an absolute mood-killer.

The sound of fighting stops.

“Zagreus,” Meg says. “Are you serious?”

“Do you think I could hire the House Contractor to redo the fresco on the ceiling? I hate it.”

“Blood loss,” Thanatos says. He and Meg lean into Zagreus’ field of vision, which is a much better view than a painting of Zagreus’ father. “Zag? Are you on your way back to the Styx? You’re lying on the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lie down.”

“I like standing,” Zagreus says petulantly. He pats the ground next to him. “Look. Meg’s holding in her guts with one hand. You’re using your unspeakably ancient and all-powerful scythe as a cane. Lie down on the floor with me.”

Meg flicks a glance at Thanatos. Thanatos blinks owlishly. He says: “I…don’t know how to lie down.”

Meg and Zagreus both stare at him. Zagreus can see the dent in Meg’s cheek that means she’s biting the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing. Slowly, she sits down on the floor and then stretches out next to Zagreus.

“It’s easy,” she says. “And you’re right, Zag, this art is awful.”

“ _Thank you_.”

Thanatos has a worried dent between his eyebrows, and seems earnestly confused about how to lie down. It’s very charming. Eventually he settles for floating horizontally about an inch off the ground, so obviously Zagreus rolls on top of him to pin him down.

Thanatos makes a noise like _uff_. “You’re bleeding on me.”

“Your armor is stabbing me in one of my fatal wounds. We’re both going to have to deal with it.”

Than is freezing cold. It’s like lying on top of a large ice cube that wants cuddles but isn’t quite sure how to put that process in motion. “I’m going to get the House Contractor to paint you on the ceiling,” Zagreus says. “Both of you. Just so you know. No, don’t try to stop me, the process is inevitable and you’ll only look like fools.”

He feels the press of one elegant, manicured fingernail against his jugular. “Sure,” Meg says. “Go ahead and try it.”

“Meg, I thought you’d be flattered.”

“You didn’t think that.”

“For the record,” Thanatos says, “I’m not flattered either. The current fresco is…thought-provoking.” Which means that he hates it.

“I’m placing the order,” Zagreus says drowsily. “Both of you. With your shirts off.” He closes his eyes and feels the sluggish warmth of blood leaking, slowly, from all of his injuries. Meg’s nail is idly tracing his carotid; Thanatos’ hand has settled cautiously at the crook of Zagreus’ elbow. He is completely exhausted and about thirty seconds away from another death and blissfully, entirely happy.

“We tired him out,” Meg murmurs.

“I still don’t understand what lying down is meant to accomplish,” Thanatos says.

“Really? I thought you and Zag—”

“I – there really wasn’t very much lying down involved in—”

“Oh?”

A momentary pause. “Was there…supposed to be?”

“There can be,” Meg says. Then, with a slyness: “I’ll show you later.”

Thanatos swallows. Says: “He’s going.”

“Smug bastard told me he was _insulted_ by the thought that I could beat him.”

“Megaera. You’re also going.”

“No I’m not. _Fuck_.”

Thanatos laughs softly. “We’ll—”

The waters of the Styx rise over Zagreus’ head and pull him down beneath the currents.

He surfaces with a mouthful of warm, partially-congealed blood and sees Thanatos staring down at him. He does his best to spit out blood in a way that looks very cool and charming and not like a goldfish. By the amused twitch of Than’s mouth, he doubts his own success.

“Did I go first?” Zagreus says eagerly. “Or did Meg.”

“I’m sorry,” Thanatos says. “The business of death is secret and sacred. I can’t tell you.”

“You tosser, that’s a complete lie.” Thanatos smirks, which is confirmation enough. Zagreus slops out of the pool and grabs a towel to begin roughly scrubbing away all the blood. Mentally, he apologizes to Dusa for having to get Styx out of these towels all the time. It must be—

The pool sloshes grudgingly and Meg comes limping out. She looks disgruntled. Her makeup is a little bit runny. Silently, Zagreus hands her a towel.

“Ugh,” she says.

“ _That_ was a pleased ugh. Wasn’t it.”

“It was an ugh,” she says. “Stop overthinking it.” She frowns at the towel and pats off her arms and torso. “I’m going to shower. Let’s…” She sighs through her teeth. “I wouldn’t be upset if this happened again.”

“Good!” Zagreus says. “Good. Enjoy the shower. Do you…want company?”

Meg’s eyes narrow into slits as she considers. “Yes,” she says eventually. She neatly folds the towel and puts it into its designated bin before walking away.

“Than?”

“I’m busy,” Thanatos says.

“Someday I am going to get a straight answer from one of the two of you, and then I will explode from happiness and die.”

“You’d better not,” Thanatos says quietly. His fingers tap-tap on the hilt of his scythe. “And yes. Alright. Fine.”

Zagreus throws his towel in the bin and he drips and drops after Meg. “Truthfully,” he tells Thanatos, “I didn’t know we _had_ showers.”

“Wonders never cease,” says Thanatos flatly. They pass by (and through) the shades lingering around the hall, past the crackling fireplace and the ominous pillars, past Hypnos watching them with wide and sparkling eyes.

“Hi guys!” he says. “You just missed Meg.”

“Yep,” Zagreus says, “trying to catch up.”

“Just so you know! I think it’s really great that all of you guys are having se—”

Thanatos teleports away.

“Ooh,” says Hypnos. “Touchy.”

“He really is. I have no idea why. Thank you, Hypnos, I’m happy to receive your endorsement.”

“No problem!” Hypnos says, and immediately falls back asleep. Zagreus lingers for a moment to weigh out the sum of his own happiness: exhausted muscles, a grin that lingers in the corner of his mouth. The taste of blood in the back of his throat. The exciting promise of clean warm water and pleasant company. One by one he puts these things in order in his mind, and finds them good. Then he walks deeper into the House to see where Meg and Thanatos have gone.

**Author's Note:**

> Say, say, my playmate  
> Won't you lay hands on me
> 
> Hey, hey, my playmate  
> Let me lay waste to thee  
> Burn down their hanging trees  
> It's hot here, hot here, hot here, hot here  
> \--"Wolf Like Me," TV On The Radio
> 
> Nothing but respect for MY ship comprised entirely of people who refuse to sit or lie down no matter how many chairs I buy them, please Thanatos, I've bought you like five chairs,
> 
> ...anyways. Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


End file.
